At 4 a.m., I found myself in Roussin Park, the silence so thick that even a whisper could create an echo. The cold was biting, cutting through my bundled layers, making me shiver uncontrollably. To make matters worse, storms had rolled in from a hurricane down south, bringing torrents of rain that felt like the worst water balloon fight of my childhood—if you were losing.
Sitting on the only bench in the park, illuminated by a feeble lamp post, I contemplated the worst. My athletic frame, usually so imposing at six feet tall, now felt sunken and repressed. The attention my light ash-brown hair and piercing blue eyes usually garnered meant nothing to me now.
This past year had been hell. I'd lost the only person who mattered, the love of my life, Winnie.
Winnie was as sweet as honey, with natural blonde hair that seemed to dance with the wind wherever she went. To me, she always appeared surrounded by an ethereal glow. Her hand fit perfectly in mine, and when I held her, her head rested effortlessly on my chest. Her blue eyes, slightly darker than mine, could see everything right in the world, balancing my darker outlook like Yin and Yang.
Contemplating taking my own life was something I never thought I'd do. But life without Winnie was unbearable. The thought of living without her was a reality I refused to accept.
I gripped the cold metal of the 1911 in my hand. Rain bounced off the barrel as I stared at it, waiting for the moment to pull the trigger. For a brief second, through the rain, I smelled Winnie's sweet scent and felt the warmth of the sunshine that always followed her. And then it was gone.
Maybe this was her way of telling me it was okay, that we would be together again soon.
I lifted the gun to my chin. Rain crashed around me as I let out a deep breath, the cold air visibly escaping my lips. My finger twitched near the trigger. I inhaled, filling my lungs with icy air.
I pulled the trigger.
A deafening crash filled my ears, and pain exploded at the back of my head. Everything faded in and out, from black to reality. Through the darkness, I saw my hands—empty, no gun.
As my vision cleared, I saw the gun at my feet, next to a bright white light. It was captivating, almost beautiful.
Drawn to the light, I noticed its origin—a smooth, oval-shaped stone. Despite the ringing in my ears, I could have sworn it emitted a sound, like something radioactive.
Looking up, I saw a crack in the sky closing. The stone still shone brightly in my peripheral vision.
I focused on the stone, its glow intensifying, the sound growing louder. I reached down, and the stone shot into my hand.
Blinding white light engulfed me, accompanied by a deafening noise. Speed enveloped me, and in a few moments, everything stilled. My eyes were clenched shut against the light. When I opened them, confusion overwhelmed me—I was standing on a dirt road in an old-looking town.
A young girl's voice came from behind me.
"You must be a Traveler. Papa will want to see you. Wait here!"
YOU ARE READING
The Traveler's Stone
Ciencia FicciónBarrett finds himself alone mourning the love of his life. Contemplating taking his own life, which seems to be the only thing that he is in control over, something mysterious happens.
